Once in a Lifetime
by Gwynbliedd
Summary: The last time someone committed murder, Nightmare Moon was the culprate, and that was 1000 years ago. Now, somepony has adopted this dangerous habit. As the only one with any experience with such dangers, the Doctor stands ready to put a stop to this. Maybe he's gotten himself into more than he can handle, at least he has Twilight to help, assuming she can figure it out.


_Once in a Lifetime_

_Click-Click_

Multiple sources echoed the sound, almost as though some unholy symphony had begun practice in the room. The most important composer would be me or, more specifically, my hooves, clopping across the linoleum floors as I dove to new cover. The rational for this maneuver could be found waddling across the lobby. A great big bull of a pony making his way closer to me, the world seemingly shook in tandem with his every step.

The other source of the aforementioned clicking was directly behind this biology experiment gone horribly wrong. A shiny brass handle attached to a fine oak door snapped sideways, barring any entry, especially mine.

My hooves found carpet as I left the main lodge in favor of a nearby cubicle. The unit itself was cramped, a rather poor choice of location on my part, but at least it was better than being in the open were I was easy prey. Without even thinking about it, I absorbed my new surroundings. For the most part, it was standard fare. A few family photos scattered here and there. There was an ancient looking computer as well, its screen was black, yet it glowed softly. Everypony must have left in a hurry. What interested me most however, was an uncovered cup of coffee on the desk. The dark brown liquid inside jiggled and shock with each step the guard-pony took towards me, every vibration a little more violent than the last. It felt like a doomsday clock, displaying each passing moment in painful clarity.

Not one to dwell on such things I looked around, needing a weapon, fast. Resting on the desk I spied another cup, but it was the contents that interested me. Spilling the poor thing over, the desk was quickly flooded with a cascade of writing utensils. One unusually nice pen caught my eye. It was a fine quality pen, made of polished wood and tipped with silvery metal. Initials were engraved on the side, a G and a B written in a beautiful flowing script. Likely it had been an anniversary gift, but my needs outweighed sentiment for the moment. Scooping it up, I turned without time to spare; the contests of the coffee cup were now spilling over with each quaking step.

The guard stuck his unnaturally large head through the opening, his thick neck quickly followed, a large, red vein pulsating. Apparently quite confident in his ability to drive off any attack, the guard slowly turned to me, giving a crooked smile, both in reality and meaning. Unfortunately, for him, he was so large that he filled the entire opening, rendering himself quite unable to defend his exposed face. I'm not proud, but I jabbed the pen into his right eye socket. Though not deep enough to kill him it did the job all the same. The guard reared back in pain, not expecting any resistance. He almost backed out of reach, but the tight walls of the cubicle boxed him in. Using the opportunity for all it was worth I spun around, my somewhat small frame coming in handy for once. With all the force I could muster I bucked the stallion under his exposed chin. I was no athlete, but there was still a sickening crack as the head snapped backwards. I felt a wave of nausea roll like a storm inside me as the blood pooled around his head, red, sticky, and filling the room with a metallic aftertaste. My lunch threatened to leave me, but I forced it to stay put, grimacing at the taste of bile mingling with the blood. Regaining my courage I stepped over the body, relieved at the soft rise and fall of its chest. I would never stoop to killing a pony, no one does.

With that freak of nature dealt with, I had but one obstacle left, the door. I ran headlong towards it in full gallop, a moment before the collision I shifted my weight, bracing my side for impact. Splinters flew everywhere, several biting into my flesh, the adrenaline countered the pain however, no agony for the moment. Picking myself off the ground, I tossed my head left and right, surveying for my goal.

The room was devoid of life, excluding me. The office itself, however, was lavish, velvet, silk, gold, jewels and other such amenities used without a second thought. It was almost gaudy. Ignoring the valuables I headed towards the real treasure, a filing cabinet, plain and made of cheap stamped metal, never had I seen something so beautiful. I opened each drawer, one at a time, starting with the top, and skimmed the contents as fast as my sleep deprived eyes would allow.

My goal was located in the second drawer, hiding in the back. I pulled out the thick manila folder; it was unmarked, which made it unique. Inside was a near never-ending flow of evidence, everything I could want, other than a confession. Happy, in a grim-dark sort of way, I set the folder down on a hand carved table. It would normally serve as the centerpiece, but for now it was as useful as my nightstand, still suitable for my purposes, however. Finished for the moment and mentally noting myself to retrieve it later, I scanned the rest of the room, for the sake of being thorough.

At first, nothing stood out, the room was large, but no extravagant furnishings, besides the desk, existed. I had almost concluded the room was evidence free, until I remembered a particularly useful piece of advice I had gotten a long time ago.

"The one direction most people forget to check is up."

Following the sage words, I looked up, half hopeful some more data would be suspended on a wire for me to grab, no such luck. As my eyes traveled down, I did notice one thing, paintings. There were several scattered around the room, each large enough to hide a safe. It was worth a shot, the pony I wanted was probably long gone anyways.

Behind one painting I found a rectangular steel door, protecting something my suspect wanted to hide. Naturally, I wished to spite him by taking a closer look. No key, however, and I had nowhere near the lock-picking skills to crack it open, not that I even had the tools for something like that. Thinking back to psych 101, I returned to the desk I had set the folder on. It seemed likely a spare key was hidden there. Being hand carved, I was unfamiliar with the desk's infrastructure. Checking the obvious spots netted me nothing especially useful. I found several hidden crevices, each containing some unique treasure, but none of them held the key. Almost as an afterthought, I checked one last spot. I had never actually seen a desk with a hiding spot quite like it, having only read about it. But, sure enough, my hoof grasped something small and cool where solid wood should have been. How the desk ever managed to stay standing with all those pieces cut out was beyond me.

I trotted towards the safe once more, armed with the proper tool. I slipped the key into the hole and gave it a turn, the sound of the tumbles sliding into place gave me a shot of endorphins as it seemingly echoed around the room, approaching from in front of and behind me.

I pulled the heavy steel-clad door open, eager to find all the evidence I could. There wasn't much inside however, some bits, and a hoof-full of suspiciously unorganized photos and documents, most seemed to come from the same source, if hoof-writing was any indication. Curious, I let my eyes wonder to the bottom of one such document as I pulled it out.

"…nothing but the best. Love…"

My investigation was cut short was a cold piece of steel kissed my exposed throat, simultaneously dashing my hopes of questioning the bastard or getting a confession, assuming he was who I thought he was.

"My guard?" he asked coldly, calculating the damages I had rendered.

"Alive, barely," I added, attempting to make myself seem more threatening.

He made no response to indicate he was impressed.

"You do realize what I'm about to do, don't you?"

Until that moment, I hadn't. The last time somepony had been murdered was... well actually it had been earlier in the week, but other than that it had been over one thousand year. The stallion behind me was a rare pony indeed.

My new understanding in hoof, I nodded, as much as the knife would allow.

"Good," he said, reveling in my utter helplessness as I contemplated a strategy.

"Any last words?" he asked, after a brief, but supremely awkward silence.

I thought for a moment, the weight of the situation bearing down me like a train. He was far too close in for me to yank the knife away, through magic or otherwise. Knowing I was out of options, I cleared my throat for the last time.

"I'm sorry, Twilight."  
The stallion gave a short bark of a laugh,

"How very noble."

Then something cold bit my neck and everything faded away.

A/N: This is just a pilot run of an idea I've had bouncing around that absolutely itched to get out. (That means this isn't the entire story!) Anyways, I probably won't be able to donate much time towards continuing the story for a while. I already have an idea in the works, as some of you know, and this has really just been a respite from that more than anything else. If you do like it however, do feel free to tell me so, if the response is overwhelming enough I might reconsider my priorities.

-I thank you all, for any and all support of my hobby, Gwynbliedd


End file.
